Sunday, October 24, 2010

My kids' elementary school is participating in Red Ribbon Week, "to encourage students to be 'Drug Free' and 'Say No to Drugs.'"

We got a flyer listing an activity for each day, beginning with every kid being given a red ribbon to wear all week, then signing a drug-free pledge, wearing crazy socks to show their commitment to being drug-free, tying ribbons on a fence to commit to being drug-free, and then on Friday the Halloween parade's theme is "Boo to Drugs."

I'm wondering now if I'm the only kindergarten mom who is uncomfortable with this?

First of all, my kindergartner doesn't know what drugs are. As I read the flyer that came home for the weekend, I wondered, are they going to teach the kids what that word means? Sure enough, in the middle of a classmate's birthday party on Saturday morning, as my daughter, who was dressed as a black kitten, was biting into a cupcake decorated to look like a spider, she looked up at me and asked, "Mama, what's drugs?"

I took a deep breath, summoning wisdom and words, and tried to, quietly, give an accurate definition, the same way I explained it to my second grader back when he first asked. (Probably during his kindergarted Red Ribbon Week.)

I said that "drugs" is another word for medicine. That they can be good for you and make you healthy, but can be bad for you if you take the wrong kind or too much. That's why doctors have to give you drugs when you need them, to make sure it's the right drug and the right amount, and won't make you sick. Even vitamins are a kind of drug, that's why you can only have the one I give you, to make sure it's safe. Some people take drugs they shouldn't, and it's not healthy.

This is what I feel should be step one. Explaining the actual word. I know that doesn't quite cover the use of the word in "Say No to Drugs."

Then she asked, "But why did a policeman die because of drugs?"

She stumped me there. What did the school tell them? Wish they had briefed me first, so we could be on the same page.

So I looked it up. According to www.imdrugfree.com, "Red Ribbon Week commemorates the ultimate sacrifice made by DEA Special Agent Enrique "Kiki" Camarena, who died at the hands of drug traffikers in Mexico while fighting the battle against illegal drugs to keep our country and children safe."

So the school thinks 5 year olds could absorb that? While not knowing what drugs are, and wearing crazy socks? And then sign their name to a piece of paper, pledging to be "Drug-Free," which essentially means nothing to them.

Personally, I believe making a pledge and signing your name to something is a big deal. My daughter has never done that, this would be her first time doing it.

I get that there are neighborhoods and schools, unfortunately, where small children do encounter drugs at an early age, and it is relevant to them. But that is not my neighborhood. I don't believe it's a developmentally appropriate topic for my kid, or her kindergarten class.

I suppose you could say, what's the harm? Maybe the message will stick with them if they do it every year.

But I think making a big deal of something that confuses them, and making them "pledge" a meaningless commitment, does do harm. It makes the words meaningless. And by the time illegal drugs, addiction, and substance abuse is on their radar, the "Say No to Drugs" thing has become a childish elementary school slogan, just for kids who have no idea what they're talking about.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Today at the grocery store I discovered Dreyer's Limited Edition Pumpkin ice cream (Edy's for you East Coasters). I am always looking for a flavor my son will like, he's not a fan of chocolate, and he's never that thrilled by vanilla and strawberry. So when I saw this, I new my pumpkin-pie-loving boy would love it.

I was content with that prize, but as I was leaving the coffee isle, I spotted the Hershey syrup bottles, and they have a new caramel variety! The boy loves caramel! So I also picked up a can of whipped cream and left quite happy.

I guess you could say I'm a little soft on the boy this week. He had an expander appliance installed across his upper palate, which I have to crank open twice daily. The day it went in he was miserable. He absolutely could not swallow, which the orthodontist warned me would happen initially. He drooled and spit and slurped until he was slightly panicked and I was super annoyed, andI told him he would just have to figure it out because he would obviously have to eat and drink, or else starve to death. Not a great parenting moment. I was completely worn down by his two younger sisters' antics in the dentist office by then, but I should've known better.

When we got home, I took his two crying sisters upstairs for naps, while the boy drooled into the bathroom sink, crying pathetically, "How can I even LIVE!? I can't even SWALLOW anything! I can't even LIVE!!!!!! Wahhhhhh!" My heart was breaking for him even as my eyes were rolling over the melodrama.

I sat him in front of cartoons for an hour or two to help him chill out and forget about it. He held his spit cup and filled it as though he had a mouth full of chew. Unfortunately, a sister came along and spilled it on the carpet, and when their father got home, he stepped in it in his socks. "AWWWWW! What the #@!*! is this?!"

"You really don't want to know. Trust me."

Anyway, I made all the kids pumpkin caramel sundeas after school today, and they were a hit. After dinner, my son jumped up to make a sundea for his Dad. Unfortunately, after they ate their sundeas and I went upstairs to fold laundry, all three kids apparently got the whipped cream out and tried to spray it in their mouths, releasing all the CO2, and making the can of cream useless. So Dad just had ice cream with caramel sauce.

Last week, at his regular cleaning, the dentist decided Jimmy's adult teeth weren't coming in evenly and so he needed two baby teeth extracted, to put in spacers. Jimmy was totally cool with that. No fear. No questions. After that appointment, I even asked him if he understood what "extraction" meant. He knew. No problem.

So today was the day, and miraculously my husband had the day off work. I was glad to be able to leave the girls with him so I could go and sit with Jimmy for his . . . gulp . . . extractions.

But my husband said he'd go instead. I said no, no, no, I need to be with him. Surely he'll want me to be there, I'm his mom.

My husband rolled his eyes, and reminded me I have issues with dental work. True, but this is my baby. It might be painful for me, but I still want to be there.

Like when my 5-week-old baby girl needed a spinal tap, and they had to squish her in a ball and try three times to get a good draw and she screamed the whole time, but I stood there talking soothingly to her, trying to touch her when I could, while tears poured down my face and I tried not to shake. A hospital corpsman put a hand on my back and gently suggested I could wait in the hall, and I tried not to bare my teeth at her. I will NOT leave my babies when there are needles, or dental instruments, involved.

But my baby boy is almost eight, and his Dad would like a chance to be there for him. Especially since he's been deployed for so much of the kids experiences. Jimmy loves spending time with his Dad.

I told my husband, we'll let Jimmy choose. Then I grinned and joked, I'm sure he'll pick me, especially if I sniffle and tell him I'll cry if he doesn't pick me.

So when Jimmy came home from school, I explained it was up to him, he could choose one of us to go with him. He asked, why can't everyone go? I explained one of us had to stay with the girls.

Then my husband says, "If you go with me, I'll drive you in the Z." I couldn't believe the shameless bribery! I gasped and looked at him, open-mouthed. He looked at me with wide-eyed pseudo innocence. The Z is my husband's 2-seater sporty non-family car, and Jimmy is over-the-moon when he is occassionally allowed to ride in it. I saw his eyes light up.

I tried, "But you might feel better knowing I'm there with you, just think who you want to . . . "

Jimmy smiled at me and said, "Yeah, I want Dad." I was disappointed, because I was so worried about him getting a sedative, and worried about complications, and began to feel extremely anxious about it all. And admitted to myself (though NEVER to my husband) that maybe it really was better if I weren't there.

After it was over, the girls and I met the boys at Jamba Juice, and I saw Jimmy come out drinking a smoothie. I walked over to hug him, and saw a dark red smear under his bottom lip. Immediately concerned that it was blood, or bruising (what did they do to my baby?!), I looked closer and realized it was just raspberry smoothie. He kept sucking in his bottom lip and rubbing his teeth over it.

I asked how it was, he just said flatly,"Fine." I looked at my husband, and he shrugged. As we all walked to some benches, I noticed Jimmy was walking slowly, and kind of unbalanced. He sat and drank his smoothie completely blank-faced. His eyes were empty, and it was scaring me.

Then my husband asked if I wanted to see the teeth. He shook a little box at me. Jimmy looked up at the box, expressionless. "They're huge," added my husband as I opened it.

They were enormous, pointy, vampire-y looking things, with the roots on them, and oooohhhhh, I felt woozy then. I closed the box and handed it back.

I just sat back and put my arm around Jimmy. Kissed his head. Yeah, it was probably better I didn't go.

Jimmy was mostly back to normal a couple of hours later, and STARVING, since he had to fast before his appointment. And now he's sleeping, hoping the tooth fairy leaves him more then usual for these particular teeth. She sure as heck better!

Friday, July 09, 2010

I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.

I've been looking around at diaper bags ever since the birth of my first child almost 8 years ago. The first one I used was pretty good, until the strap broke. When I had a second baby to carry around as well, and hands-free convenience was even more necessary, I bought a Skip Hop Duo in Cherry Red, and it was the perfect relationship.

Convenient, organized, comfortable. Slung across my body easily, my cell phone easy to grab with two fingers even while chasing a toddler, burping an infant, even before the voice mail picked up! It took everything I threw at it--wet diapers, crumbling crackers, leaking sunblock, fragile sunglasses, stockpiled restaurant crayons, folders of immunization cards and school records, all while keeping my wallet and ipod clean, dry, and in easy reach. It even has a mesh pocket that will hold a Starbucks grande cappucino (just don't forget to take it out before you sling the bag into the passenger seat next to you.)

With all this accomodation and flexibility, why would I want anything else? My faithful and durable red bag is getting shabby. I've washed it so many times I can see daylight peeking through the bottom seams when I look deep down inside for forgotten hotwheels or polly pockets. I'll admit, from time to time, I admire the sleek, trendy, younger models on other women's arms. I begin to fantasize that maybe there is another bag out there that is also perfect for me, one with more leather, and less canvas. Shiny metal rings and clasps instead of plastic drawsting toggles and alligator clips.

I didn't think about my lady, I know that sounds kind of mean.But me and my old lady, had fallen into the same old dull routine.

So I searched all my usual stomping grounds, hoping to meet up with something different. I even tried online shopping. Looking for something classic and versatile, that will hold everything, clean easily, and keep my phone, keys, and wallet handy.

So I waited with high hopes, then she walked in the place.I knew her smile in an instant, I knew the curve of her face.It was my own lovely lady, and she said, "Oh, it's you."And we laughed for a moment, and I said, "I never knew..."

.And I did find the perfect bag. The Skip Hop Duo in Basic Black

"That you liked Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.

And the feel of the ocean, and the taste of champagne.If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.You're the love that I've looked for, come with me, and escape."

The idea of Free-Range Kids, also a book by Lenore Skenazy, is that children need freedom and independence to play and explore.

Most of us used to play outside in the park, without our parents, without cell phones, without Purell or bottled water and we survived! Thrived! We cherish the memories! And if you believe the million studies that I’m always publishing here, kids are healthier, happier and better-adjusted if they get to spend some time each day in “free play,” without adults hovering

And Skenazy points to a stats showing that the belief that our world is mor dangerous these days is a myth; our kids are safer now than when we parents were kids.

So she is offering this May 22nd as a day to Take Our Chilldren To The Park . . . And Leave Them There.

Across the country — what the heck, across the world — parents will converge upon local playgrounds and parks with their school-age kids. They will tell them to have fun, make friends and don’t leave with anyone. Then the parents will wave goodbye and the kids will amuse themselves for whatever amount of time they’ve decided with their folks. An hour. A morning. Or maybe even just half an hour, to get used to the whole thing, which, admittedly, sounds radical. But is it?

Saturday, April 10, 2010

This is the very first Survey post in what I plan to be a weekly series. I'll ask a question, one that is rather Family-Fued-esque, and then I will ask (beg, guilt, plead with) you to leave a comment here (on my blog, not facebook) with your survey response.

What's in it for you? Well, eventually, I plan to have some giveaway drawings. But for now, we can just find out a little bit about each other!

So for this inaugural Survey Saturday, the question is:

What mom-items do you have right now in your bag?

Obviously things like wallets, keys, and mace don't count.

It's ok if it's common, like wipes. Or very specific, like a red dragonoid Bakugan battle armor.

You can make a quick list, or even give an explanation. Just please comment! If you're a dad, what's in your wife's bag? Or if you had a bag, what would you put in it? Or if you do have a bag . . . well, then good for you, I'll be sending the Small Things Dad of the Year award to you soon.

Wednesday, April 07, 2010

I love Easter. I love Christmas, too, but there is so much less production and expectation at Easter, that decorating and entertaining is much more stress-free. The Christmas story is lovely, about the birth of the baby Jesus, Mary, the manger, the star. But the Passion and the Resurrection are really the meat of what being Christian is, and I can use every reminder I can get that salvation and forgiveness are mine for the asking.

(I even have forgiveness for the family slurping a frappacino and crunching spicy potato chips behind me during mass--but are you really going up to receive the Host with jalapeno breath?)

We have a decent-sized bunny collection going, it grows a little every year. At first, as the grandmothers would send a couple of bunnies each Easter, I began to think, seriously, what do they expect us to do with more bunnies? Then I realized, they are a great way to decorate for spring, and isn't that what bunnies are supposed to do? Multiply? That's the whole they reason they are a symbol of spring and fertility. So I take them out each March, and then pack them away again after the Easter season.

(Which lasts 50 days, my friends, so when you see the egg wreath still on my door, it's not because I'm too lazy to take it down. Ok, not only because I'm lazy. But also because it's officially ok to leave it up until May, when I bring out my red, white, and blue stars wreath in preparation for Memorial Day, Flag Day, and 4th of July.)

So this Sunday, we hosted our 10th Annual Easter Ham and Lamb. We've been hosting Easter for friends, and occassionally visiting family, ever since our first military move to the West coast, and we always enjoy it.

It was just after our first guests arrived that the earthquake struck. "Struck" sounds very dramatic, and really, the shaking wasn't that bad, just rattled the house and made the trees and bushes sway back and forth. Though it did seem to go on for several minutes, which was unusual and a little exciting. We went on with the kids' egg hunt, and then our dinner. While we were eating I heard my cell phone ring, but I knew I wouldn't be able to extricate my self from the table in time to get it. I suspected it was my mother, because she has been fascinated by earthquakes since she felt a small one when she visited us here years ago. I wondered aloud if she had an iphone app for the usgs earthquake alerts. A minute later, my husband's cell phone rang, I figured I'd better get it so my parents wouldn't worry.

Good thing I did.

Back in Georgia, my parents were hosting their own Easter dinner, with my sister and my nephew, and my other sister and her husband. My younger sister just visited us here last week, and she was sharing her stories about San Diego, and wishing she'd had a chance to feel a little earthquake. They teased my Mom about all the email updates she receives about every little earthquake. She insisted it wasn't that many, not since she changed her settings so she only is alerted for 3.5 or above. While playing Scat (a card game) after dinner, my nephew was the first eliminated and went to the computer. He quickly called to the others that there'd been a seven-point-something quake in Southern California.

"What!?" shouted my Mom, jumping up from the table. Everyone tried to calm her, assuring her that it was probably fine. Mom rushed to her computer, looking over my nephew's shoulder as he clicked on different headlines and links. She told me later that it was all she could do to not physically throw him out of her chair so she could start checking for herself. Finally my sister suggested my nephew move, and Mom got more worried when she saw the giant red box over the Mexico/California border. That's when they started calling us, and worrying more when we didn't answer the home phone (the ringer is off) or my cell.

When I answered my husband's phone, it was my Dad, and he put me on speaker phone. I think they were all on the edge of their seats. I had to step outside so I could hear them, and reassure them that we were alright, that there was no damage here. He told me that I should post something on Facebook, and I distractedly said "OK" (I was distracted because all three of my kids had snuck out after me and were running down the street as though their very freedom was at stake).

"No, really, you should, Kristi, because people will be worried," added my older sister.

I assured them I would, then I chased down and caught the two-year-old, and went back inside. I wasn't about to chase the older ones, and we live in a small gated neighborhood anyway. They'd come back when they realized that freedom, when you're under 8, is overrated.

So I updated my Facebook status, and went back to dessert. Soon the doorbell rang. "Who is it?" shouted my husband.

"US!" called out my son and daughter.

We let them back in. Maybe they finally realized it wasn't that smart to run away from a house full of Easter candy.

Monday, March 08, 2010

Last night, after the Oscars, my husband and I searched our cable On Demand for a movie we would both sit through, and settled on HBO's Temple Grandin. A true story, it stars Claire Danes as the autistic woman Temple Grandin, and shows how she made her way through college and earned a masters in science, and became an innovator in the cattle industry.

She shows an inspiring journey and challenge, but what grabbed me most was Temple's mom. Played by Julia Ormond, she had me choking back tears many times, imagining what it would be like to have a doctor tell you that her problems are because you didn't love her enough. I love Ormond's restrained but angry response to the doctor saying he'd better explain it to her husband: "My husband is a busy man, and I graduated from Harvard, so why don't you try me."

But the part that made me weep was when Temple is explaining her success to other parents of autistic children, and talks about how her mother never gave up on her, and drilled into her the behavior she needed to learn . . . I can't even type it without a lump growing in my throat again. As much as moms worry and struggle to figure out what our kids need from us, and the dark moments when we fear we are failing them . . . I can only pray that I have such a moment someday as Temple Grandin's mom.

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

I don't think this is the kind of answer Oprah has in mind when she asks the question, but it is a genuine answer. And a good one, I believe.

Furthermore, I truly believe that I am the best person to decide what makes a perfect Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. I know there are many lovers of the PB&J out there, even some over the age of 12, like me.

But I have been dedicated to loving peanut butter and jelly since I first started carrying my Dance Fever lunch box to school. Probably before. My mom would sometimes make me a ham sandwich instead, which was also pretty good, especially if it was oozing lots of Hellman's. But peanut butter and jelly was always my first request.

Sometimes an older kid, or a cousin, or a parent, would try to explain to me that if I ate one every day, that I would soon grow sick of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And that when I grew up, I wouldn't enjoy them anymore.

Totally untrue. Now, in my thirties, I love them as much as ever. I made myself a half-sized one last night with a cup of tea while I watched American Idol.

And get this.There is actually a National Peanut and Jelly Day, which falls on April 2. Do you know what else happens to fall on April 2? My birthday. See? It's destiny.

I am a little sad about how the sandwich has fallen from grace in the last few years. Never in my wildest dreams could I have anticipated dropping my kids off at classroom doors bearing signs with a big red circle and a slash over a picture of some peanuts, and sometimes my beloved sandwich, too, with the ordinance, "Nut-Free Zone."

I was very upset at first, in a very curmudgeonly what-is-this-world-coming-to kind of way. But I totally understand the reason, I've known a couple of moms now with kids who've almost died from a peanut allergy. I'm totally sympathetic. I still don't quite understand where the peanut allergy was when I was a kid, or why it grew to epidemic proportions--and I hope someone somewhere is looking into it. That's plain scary.

So I make my kids Peanut Butter and Jelly at home, as an afternoon snack, a weekend lunch, or picnic/roadtrip fare. In fact, when I recently bid farewell to our best friends as they set off on a Navy cross-country move, I supplied them with a stack of PB&Js for the road. Comfort food for crossing the Mojave desert. (The Mojave's tagline: You Could Die Here.)

When I was a kid, our choosy mom spread chunky Jif and grape Smuckers on Roman Meal wheat bread. Yummy. These days, we moms are now informed about nefarious things like trans fat, hydrogenated oils, and high-fructose corn syrup, so I have gotten even choosier about my PB&J ingredients.

Without further ado, here's my recipe:

1) Two slices of Orrowheat 100% whole wheat bread. I like Orrowheat because it uses NO high-fructose corn syrup, but it is still pretty cheap and in every grocery store.

2) I use Laura Scudders All Natural Peanut Butter, which I do have to stir when I first open a new jar, but then once I refrigerate it, it won't really separate, and it stays soft and spreadable. I prefer chunky, but the commissary stopped carrying chunky about 6 months ago. One of these days I'll remember to put a request in the comment box. I like natural peanut butter because there's no added sugar, no hydrogenated oils, and it just plain tastes better.

3) Brace yourself. I use Polaner All Fruit jams. I know, I know, it comes in a teeny tiny jar and cost more, especially compared to the enormous jar of Smuckers. But I love the taste, and the consistency, of Polaner, and I don't want my kids getting hooked on high-fructose corn syrup. Plus, I buy it at the commissary for something like $1.40 a jar. Oooh, I most love their seedless raspberry, which I also use as a filling in cakes, and even brownies, but all their flavors are delicious.

4) So obviously, you spread one slice of bread with peanut butter, and one slice with jam. But to make a perfect PB&J, I spread it evenly all the way over the edge of the crust. I am very careful to do this, because I am a crust Nazi. Maybe I am just a Mean Mom, but will not let my kids get away with not eating the crusts. Maybe it's because my parents didn't indulge that, or maybe it's because I don't like wasting food. Or maybe that I want them to get used to overcoming illogical food pickiness, which annoys my husband even more than me. So I make the crusts as tasty as possible.

5) Now for the cutting. I cut it twice, diagonally, into triangles. I've learned that if you cut it just once, in half, kids will end up with peanut butter and jelly smeared across their cheeks because the sandwich is too wide for their little mouths. Also, this results in each triangle having only one side of crust. Much easier for kids to tolerate, just one crust per mini sandwich. See, I do try to accomodate them.

6) I've started plating the sandwiches with the triangles standing up on their crusts, with their points pointing straight up, because it shows off the filling, and looks so inviting. And presentation doesn't ALWAYS matter, but it sure is nice to eat pretty food.

So that's my Perfect Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. Other people may make it differently, which is fine, I'm sure, but it's not Perfect.

Monday, January 25, 2010

Before January is through, I once again want to do what I can call awareness to Birth Defects Prevention month. It is an issue close to my heart, as I have lost a baby girl to a fatal neural tube defect called anencephaly. NTDs are preventable for most women, if they are taking folic acid supplements. Most women don't know enough about folic acid, so I am re-posting some information I shared a few years ago during Folic Acid Awareness Week.

First Published January 8, 2007:

Folic acid, or folate, is the supplement I take to help prevent neural tube birth defects like my baby Hope's. Many foods are now fortified with this vitamin, for instance, it's added to enriched wheat products, which has helped reduce the occurance of neural tube defects. But the folate that comes from food sources is often not enough for some women, or is not easily enough absorbed, to prevent neural tube defects.

A neural tube defect, like anencephaly or spina bifida, occurs when the neural tube does not properly close, or "zip up" all the way to the top of what will be the skull and spinal column. This happens by day 28 of a pregnancy, so taking folic acid only after you find out you're pregnant is really too late.

I strongly believe this is something all women need to know about, so let me share what I know.

The recommended daily allowance (RDA) of folic acid for the average woman is only 400 mcg. That's what's in a standard multivitamin. But for pregnant women and those trying-to-conceive, the RDA is 1000mcg (which equals 1 mg). Since an egg begins developing for release 3 months prior to ovulation, that means women need to start taking daily folic acid 3 months before conception.

For those (like me) who've had a baby with a NTD, the RDA is 5 mg. Conception has a stubborn habit of refusing to follow to our schedules, which is why most married women may want to take folic acid daily for the rest of their childbearing years. That's my plan. For those related (by blood or marriage) to a baby with an NTD, the RDA is 2 mg. That goes for relatives of the mother, relatives of the father, and even spouses of relatives. It is clear that there's a genetic factor, and that may include the father's genes as well as the mother's. So all siblings of the mother and father, whether male or female, have a higher risk factor for NTDs.

You can buy folic acid tablets at any grocery or discount store, but usually in just 400 mcg tablets. You can usually find 800 mcg tablets at health food stores. You can also ask your doctor for a prescription for 1 mg tablets, which is how I get mine. And you can get more information about folic acid and the prevention of birth defects from the National Council on Folic Acid